


Belonging

by blue_pointer



Series: Death Comes Calling [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men: The Animated Series
Genre: Action & Romance, Afghanistan, Air Force, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Awkward Romance, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bathroom Sex, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Vampire Sam, Werecats, Werepanthers, bg Stucky, bg T'Challa/Ororo, field medic, history of evil!Steve, were Riley, weretiger Luke Cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 01:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12201555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/blue_pointer
Summary: Sam’s quest to fill his afterlife with meaning leads him to war-torn Afghanistan. Why didn’t Steve or Bucky tell him shapeshifters exist? One plucky were-jackal later, Sam’s not so worried about spending eternity alone anymore. But will Riley’s pack be able to accept a vampire in their midst?This is a prequel to my series Death Comes Calling.





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

> A great big thank you to my artist [waltermittie](http://waltermittie.tumblr.com/) who stepped in to make something beautiful for this fic. Their artwork can be viewed here as well as embedded in the fic itself. They also made the lovely banner below.
> 
> I'd also like to thank magicisgreen and Jo for beta-ing this for me. You're awesome!
> 
>  
> 
> This is my submission for Sam Wilson's Birthday Bang 2017. Happy Birthday, Sam!

 

After his death in 1969, Sam had had a hard time finding where exactly he fit now in the grand scheme of things. His vampire “family” was more toxic than any human family he’d ever seen--and he’d seen some shit in his life. Sam decided to strike out on his own to see the world, find a place that felt right for both who and what he was now. He tried career path after career path, spent years in school, and did a lot of good for a lot of people. But in the end, after decades of service, an MD, a Psy.D, and a couple more master’s degrees to boot, he still felt like something was missing.

The end of the cold war saw western civilization slowly fold in on itself like a bad souffle. Without a common enemy for the U.S. to rally against, things started to go to shit. Then terrorists struck New York, and Sam was called to action once more.

He was at the twin towers on 9/11. Not in the early hours after the attacks; he’d been dead asleep for that, but when night fell and the exhausted first responders struggled to find survivors, to contain the wreckage, to piece together what had gone wrong, Sam was there to lend his expertise. Bucky came, too. A lot of supernaturals in the bi-state area did. 9/11 brought New Yorkers of all kinds together. Only an irredeemable monster like Steve could sit at home and laugh at the news rolling out in the wake of the tragedy.

Sam was still riding high on a renewed sense of purpose when Bush deployed troops in the middle east. Desert Storm had been a joke, but this might be interesting, he thought. Or it might be a clusterfuck. Either way, people would need his help.

 

*

 

Sam had come to Afghanistan against Bucky’s protests, riding the wave of patriotism from 9/11. No way he could enlist in his non-breathing state, so Sam snuck around the different camps, swiped uniforms and tried his best to blend in. He still had his dog tags from Vietnam, and he wore them. Let Air Force personnel try to parse that, if it ever came down to it.

Soon he found himself on base long enough to falsify paperwork, and ended up with a home to go to outside of crawling through caves if he wanted it.

And he did. The local Lamash creeped him out. Some of those Mesopotamian vampires were so old, they barely resembled the humans they’d once been. They called Sam ‘Nubian’, which was some serious senile old vampire bullshit. To the vampire, the Lamash had chosen to withdraw from the mortals’ conflict, annoyed by the interruption of their feeding patterns--which they negotiated like mahjong games--but otherwise unconcerned. They thought Sam was mad to care at all.

Sam wrote himself papers so that he could travel from base to base. He made himself a Field Medic and a lot of the work was like his old days as an EMT. No one ever questioned where he came from in the middle of the night to help, it was so badly needed.

The modern military was very integrated. No one blinked an eye at Sam wherever he chose to go. It was refreshing.

Except there was this one guy: pasty-skinned white kid with pinkish-yellow hair trying to be ginger. He looked like an escapee from the Shire, but that was his problem as far as Sam figured...except the guy would not stop staring at him whenever they were in the mess or happened to be in the base bar at the same time. It was getting to the point where Sam was going to have to pull him aside and knock some sense into him. But whenever he followed the dude outside, he’d disappeared. That was a pretty neat trick.

And he stank. Something about the guy just reeked to Sam. Out here in the desert, no one was April fresh. But that dude stank like roadkill and something else that pissed him off, but he couldn’t identify. Sam started to take a special interest in Stinky, because Stinky had taken a special interest in him.

Some research revealed the guy was some kind of top secret test pilot for new military tech. Sam laughed when he found out what it was. Jet-propelled wings? Seriously? At least they were strapping them on field medics. He couldn’t hate Stinky too much when he found out he was a fellow life-saver. But he did laugh at the ultra white boy and his goofy plastic wings. Sam didn’t need wings to fly.

But now that he knew Stinky could fly, it was a competition. When he flew night missions, Sam followed along, doing the equivalent of Bugs Bunny’s backstroke as he kept up with the pathetic little glider. He amused himself by randomly showing up at remote locations seconds after Stinky did, watching the guy struggle to understand how Sam had done it while Sam patched up whoever it was needed help.

Sam never really questioned why he did it. Maybe Stinky reminded him a little too much of Steve. But that wasn’t really fair. Stinky’s personality was vanilla in a cup. He lacked Steve’s cruelty and malevolence. Still, they both had that Irish white boy thing going for them.

Then it happened: one night while Sam was amusing himself flying circles around Stinky on his way to rescue some marines on radio silence who’d been surrounded by insurgents, Stinky was shot out of the sky by an RPG. Below him, Sam watched the mortal burst into flames and fall to the ground along his trajectory parabola like a shooting star. Sam couldn’t touch him while he was on fire; he had to let him fall. It was one of the worst two minutes of his life.

Stinky was a fighter. On the ground, gently smoldering, Sam watched him crawl away from his gear, dragging a line of blood and char twenty feet. There could be no saving him. But Sam had to try. He landed next to the Airman and gently rolled him over to assess the damage.

“Don’t touch me, bloodsucker!” he snarled, his pupils dilated almost to the point they engulfed the blue of his eyes. “I’m not dead yet!” But from the bloody foam mixed in the spittle he was shooting everywhere, Sam guessed that would happen soon enough.

“What the hell is wrong with you, man? I’m trying to help!”

“Yeah, right!” Stinky choked on his own blood and saliva. “I’ve seen you watching me. Biding your time. Waiting--” He stopped breathing so suddenly, Sam was unprepared. He bent to listen for a heartbeat and something tossed him 30 feet away. Sam lay in the dust, shocked. This had never happened to him since he’d turned. At least, not since the last time he’d fought Steve. He glanced around, smelling the air, trying to identify the threat.

Stinky--Riley, he corrected himself. The man was dying. No sense to add insult to injury--was writhing on the ground. Sam had seen this before, especially in young mortals whose bodies rejected the fact they were dying. Their muscles would contort their whole bodies in search of that one last breath. Sighing, he walked back over. There was no one around but the two of them as far as he could tell.

Airman Riley was making pathetic noises, mewling and growling, inhuman sounds, trying to escape his fate. Sam was half-tempted to put him out of his misery. But when he got close enough to see details, it was no longer the airman’s body but a wizened, clawed thing, twisted and distorted between forms, like bad special effects. Sam stopped where he stood. He didn’t want to get any closer to that thing than he had to.

As he watched, the misshapen creature disappeared into Riley’s uniform, writhing fabric all that was left of the man. Sam approached slowly, hearing a strange yipping and chirping from within. What the hell was this? It would have been nice if his so-called maker had given him a cryptozoology class before sending him out on his own. The things Steve and Bucky had taught him when they’d traveled together could be fit into an address-sized book titled “Things Even Lestat Wouldn’t Do” and had not prepared him for shit like this.

Still, he was a vampire. What did he have to be afraid of?

He was only about five feet away when a pointed face emerged from the singed collar of Riley’s shirt. Followed by two triangular ears. Swiveling toward him, it scrambled out of the clothing, dragging one hind leg, guarding a bloody tummy, growling and whining. It limped away from him, but there was nowhere to hide, and so it stopped, eyes glued to Sam, hunched down in pain.

“Get outta here!” Was this for real? “What are you, some kind of werewolf?” Sam crouched down, like he was about to call a dog or a cat. The creature just stared at him, wary.

“Look, whatever you are, you’re in pain. Let me take a look at you.” He was no veterinarian, but he’d done some patch-up work on the bomb-sniffing dogs, who were so often the targets of insurgent ambushes. And a mammal was a mammal. But as he approached, the mangy thing withdrew. “Are you seriously going to bleed to death in the desert because you won’t let me help you? What, because I’m black or something?”

That seemed to give the creature pause. It licked its nose, squeaky-whimpered and lay down on the ground. It stretched out on its side, a pose that Sam had come to know meant bad news for dogs and cats. He rushed over and assessed the damage: pretty much what you’d expect from getting hit with an RPG. Burns, lacerations. He applied pressure to the wound and bandaged it as best he could. By then, Riley-kit looked out cold. “Hey.” He shook it gently. “You still alive in there?” It whined and licked its nose again, panting.

Right. Maybe it needed water. Sam took off his canteen and poured some into the lid, holding it out for the fox...coyote...whatever it was. Riley didn’t drink, so Sam dabbed his nose with it, then rubbed water on his face and ears. The creature was too tired to protest.

Sam sat with him the rest of the night, wondering what to do. If he took him back to camp, they’d probably shoot him for being a wild animal. But he couldn’t leave him out here. Sam buried Riley’s gear and found a cave with water before the sun rose. He grabbed a rabbit and a snake in case the Riley-thing needed food. Then he hid himself in a deeper crevice and passed out with the sun.

Sam awoke to blue eyes staring in at him, starting. But it was just Riley. “Don’t DO that, man!” He slid out of the rocky crevice and crouched on the gravelly floor of the cave, coming face to face with Riley’s dick.

Riley quickly covered himself with one hand. “Where are my clothes?”

“What, you couldn’t sniff ‘em out on your own, Old Yeller?”

“You hid them on purpose!” His lower lip went in and out of his mouth, like he was a five year old about to bust out crying. “Please!” He looked indignant and ridiculous. “I have to go find those marines.”

The marines! Sam had completely forgotten them in the middle of the Twilight Zone last night. But then he realized something: Riley wasn’t bleeding anymore. He still had burns over a good portion of his body, but they weren’t life-threatening. The wound in his abdomen had almost closed. “Guess monster movies do get some things right.”

“Look, just gimme your underwear.”

“Excuse me?” Sam had never been hit on quite like this.

“I have to be wearing something when I get to where there are humans. No one’s going to listen to me if I’m...naked.”

“Why?” Sam grinned, suddenly having fun. “I think you look just fine.”

Riley gripped his dick more firmly, his neck and shoulders blushing a light shade of fuchsia. “I don’t even know why I expected more from a goddamn vampire.” He whirled and marched away. How did white boys sit with such tiny asses? It was cute, though, for a little ass.

“Okay, just calm down, crackerjack. I’ll show you where your clothes are. Then we’ll go check on those marines.”

Riley made a face at him. “Why do you care what happens to those humans?”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do _you_ care?”

Riley started to puff up, defensive. “Well I believe that all life matters! But I don’t expect you to understand--”

“You sure do like to work yourself up,” Sam said, walking past him, leading the way out. “You’ve seen me help enough soldiers. Why did you think I did it then?”

“Well...I don’t know!” He was still so defensive.

“Look, you better get your back down, or we’re gonna have a hard time working together.”

“I don’t need your help!” Riley said.

“Oh, okay.” Sam started kicking the sand near where he’d buried Riley’s gear. “Well next time I’ll just leave you out here to die.”

“It’s not because you’re black.” Sam looked up at him. “I didn’t come to you last night because...well, I thought you were gonna eat me.”

Sam snickered, showing fang. “You wish, creampuff.”

“I--” Riley gestured with his free hand. “You know what I mean.”

Sam bent down, starting to pull his clothes out of the sand. “For your information, I don’t eat dogs.”

“I’m not a dog,” Riley whined.

“Okay, coyote. Whatever.”

“I’m a jackal. I mean--that’s my canid form.”

“Congratulations,” Sam said, handing him the remains of his uniform. “You’re a jackass.”

Riley grimaced. “Why are you so mean?” He edged closer, cautiously, grabbing the fabric and darting off to pull it on.

“You know, I already seen your little thing.” Sam was amused he felt the need to turn away while he got dressed. Riley paused, then sagged, only half-dressed. “Hey, don’t take it so personally. Most guys have small dicks. You’re actually in the majority.”

“I’m not gonna make it,” he said, sounding defeated.

“Say what?” Sam moved closer. Was the guy gonna pass out?

Riley glanced back over his shoulder, the shirt not quite hiding his asscheeks. “Can you tie it on me?”

“Say what?”

“My uniform.” Riley turned around, hiding his dick in his hand again. “So that I can put it on when I get there.”

“Why wouldn’t you wear it?”

Riley rolled his eyes. “The only way I’ll make it on foot is if I change.”

Sam looked at him. “You’re kidding, right? What, you’re planning on doing some kind of shaggy dog thing? Sneak over there on four paws and then put your clothes on before anybody notices?”

“Well normally I’d fly, but…” Riley indicated the remains of his wings, irritated.

“Okay, so we’ll fly. Put your pants on.”

“What?” But Riley didn’t have more time than that before Sam grabbed him and they were airborne. “Holy shiiiiiiit!” Riley shouted against the drag of the air whipping past them. Sam was fast. Even for a vampire, he was fast.

“Thought I told you to put your pants on,” Sam said.

“You suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck--” The wind kept eating Riley’s words, and Sam smirked.

They found the marines, but they’d been captured by insurgents. Some of them. The rest were dead. Sam felt like shit. He landed gently, stepping forward to examine the scene while Riley dragged his pants on with shaking fingers. “If I hadn’t gotten shot down…” He sounded angry.

“Yeah, okay. Pity party later. Right now, I’m feeling a trail off to the east. What do you say, Fido?”

“That’s really mean,” Riley whined, walking over, barefoot, to sniff around. “Four guys. AR15s. East. Yup.”

Turned out, they were a great team once Riley stopped worrying Sam was going to eat him and Sam understood where Riley’s attitude came from. Riley took care of the marines while Sam picked off the insurgents one by one.

“You know, you’re not half bad, bloodsucker,” Riley told him as they walked back from debriefing.

“Yeah, well you still smell like ass.” But Sam smirked when he said it.

 

*

 

That first night back, Riley offered to buy him a drink. It was just the base bar, but that was okay by Sam. He ordered a sloe gin and sipped it. Alcohol wasn’t good for vampires either.

“So. What’s a pulseless guy like you doin’ in a happening place like Kandahar?” Riley smirked. What a dork. Was this really his game?

Sam smiled back. “Heard you could get good werewolf tail around here. Know any?”

Riley glanced around to see if anyone was listening. “I am a jackal!”

“You gotta stop insulting yourself like that, creampuff.”

Riley got right up in his face. His breath smelled like malt liquor. “Listen you stupid sexy vampire--” Both of them froze, locking eyes.

They wrestled in the single bathroom stall, buttons popping, for who would get to dominate. In the end, Sam won, because vampires might suck blood but apparently werewolves liked to suck dick--at least this one did. He almost ripped the stall door off when he came, which prompted them to take the show back to their quarters.

Everything with this boy was a fight. They nearly broke the bed deciding who was going to be on top--and there was no penetration their first time! Sam enjoyed the challenge. Jackal-boy was strong. But not as strong as he was. In the end, they settled for lying face to face on their sides. Sam gasped when Riley’s hand was suddenly on his cock, but Riley’s tongue muffled any further sounds Sam had been about to make.

“Wait,” Riley said, pulling back suddenly. “I just realized. I don’t know your name.” He eyed Sam’s name patch on his fatigues, dubious. “You’re not Ortiz, are you?”

_“Nunca lo diré.”_

_“¿Y que si pregunto amablemente?”_ (Even if I ask nicely?)

Sam was taken aback by his flawless (if accented) Spanish. “You are full of surprises, cornfed.”

_“Déjame sorprenderte algo más.”_

Sam enjoyed having sex in Spanish. He hadn’t done it since his time with Doctors Without Borders.

Afterwards, they lay on the bed, Riley sweating up a storm, soaking the sheets, and Sam, cool as the undead. “I wanna use you like an ice pack,” Riley said, pressing his cheek against Sam’s chest.

“Please, help yourself.” That was a new one. “Okay, now I get the stank.”

“What?” Riley looked up at him.

“It’s werewolf stank--jackal stank.”

“What?” Riley was starting to ruffle.

“No, I always wondered why you stank. Now I get it. Werejackal stank.”

Riley stuck his tongue out at Sam. “Well you smell like a corpse!”

“Hey now.”

“A fresh one,” he added, shrugging.

Sam laughed. “You know, you’re kinda cute for a were...whatever.”

Riley tried to act annoyed that Sam refused to remember his animal form, but the fact his ears were turning pink told a different story. “You’re okay for a vampire, I guess.”

And that was how it started.

 

*

 

The problem with dating a werewolf was werewolf politics.

Sam had thought he knew politics. Vampire politics were complete bullshit. You had to petition, negotiate, and pay for visas to travel to another clan’s territory in vampire politics. And that was just TRAVEL.

But werewolf politics took the cake. Werewolf politics seemed to be much more democratic, and took forever. And then, when you finally got permission for a thing, there was a huge 7-day ritual to celebrate/accomplish it.

When Riley--Clay, Sam reminded himself. It was weird to keep referring to each other by their surnames now they were out of the military--had first introduced Sam to his pack leader, it had all seemed pretty laid back. Granted, the giant mansion overlooking the Pacific wasn’t too unassuming, but Sam wasn’t really impressed by immense wealth after hanging with vampires for a few decades. He did appreciate the decor, which was all black leather and dark wood paneling and chiaroscuro. It was stylish in an ageless way.

T’Challa had been seated in a huge leather armchair that looked like a throne. Or it was possible it only looked like a throne because of the man sitting in it. Something about him, his presence, made Sam want to kiss his ring. Also, he was a gorgeous hunk of man, and Sam didn’t mind looking.

While he stared, Clay actually did get down on his knees at the man’s feet. “Alpha, I’d like to present my lover...Samuel Thomas.” He held up a hand to Sam, and Sam suddenly couldn’t remember if he was supposed to bow or do a pirouette or what.

“Uh...hey.” He raised his free hand in greeting.

“Step forward, Samuel Thomas,” the man commanded, and Sam found himself doing it, as though he was under a spell. T’Challa’s English was heavily accented. Could that be...Wakandan? Now he had even more questions. Later. Right now, Sam tried to hold perfectly still as the alpha looked him over.

“You are dead,” he pronounced.

But Sam knew Clay had told them that ahead of time. It was a big deal, apparently.

“The pack must vote.”

“You mean I can’t just date him?” Sam asked. Because no one was going to make him stop at this point. They’d been together for two tours.

“You vampires and your sense of humor,” he said. “Sometimes I feel you should headline comedy clubs.” T’Challa smiled. Clay laughed nervously, and Sam gave him an offended look.

“So werewolves don’t have a sense of humour? Good to know.”

T’Challa had risen to go, but he turned back slowly. “We are not...wolves here, Samuel Thomas. You’d do well to remember that.”

He left and Sam felt like he’d been dismissed. “Isn’t he amazing?” Clay stared after him with wibbly eyes.

“Seriously?” Sam was getting pissed. “Clay, I thought you said you told him.”

“I did,” he said, using Sam’s hand to pull himself back to his feet. “But he’s not allowed to decide something this big. It has to be put before the pack. We’ll do it at the next moon gather.”

“The what what?”

“The monthly reunion I told you about.”

“Ohhh the howl at the moon thing. That’s cool.”

Riley looked dismayed. “Sam...remember I told you it’s really touchy for us--”

“Okay, fine. But if he’s gonna call me a comedian, I’m gonna crack jokes.”

Riley sighed. “Awesome.”

 

*

 

The Moon Gather was something more than a clambake and something less than the Circle of Life sequence in _The Lion King_ . Sam sat awkwardly on a rock while critters of all shapes and sizes cavorted around the beach. He lost Clay in a handful of jackals, and half-expected Shamu to come thrusting out of the sea and join the fun. There were lions and tigers--no bears--and seals and snow leopards and jaguars and he could’ve sworn he saw Bagheera from _The Jungle Book_. Clay was right, though: no wolves. With the exception of a fox and a couple of coyotes, the jackals were the only canids present.

It was hard not to fidget. He was the subject of the vote, not quite a guest at this party, so he wasn’t allowed to join in. Part of him wanted to--it looked fun as hell. Part of him wanted to tip-toe quietly away from the madness. The Cheshire Cat was surely around here somewhere, right?

“Mrrrrrrow?”

Sam blinked. Could werecats read minds? The little black and white cat chirped up at him and brushed her long, sleek fur against his arm.

“Is it rude if I pet you?”

“Rrrrrrrrrrro,” she answered, sitting expectantly. Sam carefully extended his hand to rub her head. She closed her eyes and purred. He didn’t recognize half the animal forms here as their human counterparts, but this one he did. Poor Rogue couldn’t be touched in her human form. But her cat form was safe. It made sense she’d want some love the one time she could receive it. Confirming his suspicions, she hopped into Sam’s lap. Well, at least he wasn’t totally an outsider in all this.

Sam nearly jumped when Bagheera stalked past him and leapt down onto the beach. Had he been sitting there the whole time? No way had he evaded Sam’s vampire senses. The black panther strolled over to the nearest bonfire, every movement graceful. Sam watched the leopard’s muscles ripple underneath his glossy fur. That was not a cat to mess with.

He sat down by the fire and roared. Suddenly the antics on the beach ceased, all the other weres falling silent. Duh. That panther must be T’Challa. Sam felt stupid for not recognizing him.

The other weres moved toward the fire, gathering in a loose circle. “Mirrp!” Rogue told him, hopping daintily out of Sam’s lap to join them. He wrapped his arms around his knees, suddenly nervous. One of the jackals looked up at him. It had to be Clay.

T’Challa did some more roaring at the weres gathered, and then he lay down on his belly, waiting. It seemed like debate time. A snow leopard stepped forward on one side of the fire. He would have bet money it was Ororo. No way was there another were in existence who was that beautiful in both forms. Sam had to check himself. Was he seriously eyeing a snow leopard?

She chuffed and roared softly, taking a few minutes to make her point while pacing around the circle. When she stood back, a small bear-badger thing waddled forward. From the way it growled and snapped, Sam was pretty sure it was arguing against him. Stupid werebadger. It smelled even worse than Clay on a bad day.

The bear-badger was cut off as an adult male tiger stepped forward. It let loose with a passionate roar, its speech a long decrescendo of sound that ended in some well-timed chuffs. When it backed up, T’Challa stood again. He snarled, and a ring-tailed lemur climbed over his back and scurried around the circle, placing rocks and sticks in front of each were. The panther growled at the werebadger, who made a big show of taking the rock in his mouth and waddling over to a pink plastic sand bucket and tossing it in.

One by one, the animals around the circle chose either the rock or the stick and went to cast their vote. Sam couldn’t see which one they each chose. He’d lost count. Which one was the right one, the rock or the stick? Did he even care? This whole ceremony was ridiculous. But then he caught Clay looking back at him, his pointed little face anxious. If being with him meant having to put up with this crazy were politics bullshit, well. At least it wasn’t vampire politics, with the sanctimonious elders and the crazy punishments and the arcane laws. But he still didn’t like the fact his entire fate was being decided in a child’s beach toy.

Once the votes were cast, the lemur collected the bucket and dragged it down the beach to do the count. An ibis followed, presumably for accountability. The animals in the circle waited for the verdict, but Clay had grown antsy, dancing back and forth on his dainty feet. He broke ranks and loped up the beach to join Sam, scrambling up the rock at the last. “You know those paws aren’t meant for climbing, right?” Sam asked him, grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him the rest of the way up. Riley chirped and growled, licking his face and leaning hard against him. Sam wrapped an arm around him.

They didn’t have to wait long. The ibis flew back and then the lemur returned, chittering in the panther’s ear. He nodded to the enormous tiger, who walked the outer circle and approached Sam and Riley purposefully. Sam had to check himself. Even knowing he could tear apart any of these weres, his first instinct when a tiger was coming straight toward him was to run. Clay whimpered softly, pressing against him.

“Come,” the tiger said in a deep baritone voice, startling Sam even more than if he’d jumped him. Riley slipped down the rock in his usual shamelessly clumsy way, but Sam wanted to at least LOOK more dignified than that. If he was being voted down, he could at least maintain some pride. The tiger let him rest his hand on his powerful shoulders as Sam walked down the incline. Their walk to the bonfire seemed to take forever, but finally Sam was standing within the circle, facing the black panther.

In one seamless motion, the great cat reared up on his hind legs, and suddenly Sam was facing T’Challa, butt-naked. It was hard not to look. Luckily, Sam’s anxiety helped.

“Samuel Thomas,” the alpha said, gravely. “The pack has spoken.” He took a leather thong from around his neck. At first, Sam thought the pendant was a wood carving, but then he realised: it was a tooth. T’Challa stepped forward and drew the necklace carefully over his head. “You are now one of us, fang and blood.”

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when a cacophony of noise erupted from the weres around them. The din was composed of all manner of sounds; it was like being in the middle of feeding time at the zoo.

“Welcome, brother.” The alpha embraced him, and Sam did his best to hug back, but it was awkward. How often do you get embraced by a hot naked guy?

“Brother.” Ororo stepped forward, now in her human form, as well. Sam thought frantically of baseball stats as she, too, embraced him in welcome.

To be honest, Sam had never been hugged by so many naked people in his life. But apparently this was just how it was with weres. None of them were embarrassed or shy. He could tell the ones who hadn’t been on board by the way they welcomed him, choosing to shake his hand instead of hugging him, some not even meeting his eyes. The angry badger turned out to be a hairy little white guy with mutton chops and a perpetual glower. He didn’t even shake Sam’s hand, just grunted and lumbered off.

“Don’t mind Logan, sugar,” Rogue told him. “He takes time to warm to new folks.” Sam smiled and gave her a warm nod. Of course she couldn’t embrace him, but it wasn’t because she hadn’t voted to welcome him.

He quickly tore his eyes away from her breasts as Clay tackled him to the ground, slobbering all over him, more puppy than man. Sam laughed, wrestling with him. “Hey. Don’t you go gettin’ sand in my kazoo.”

It was strange. Somehow, it almost felt like they were married now. Sam didn’t mind a bit. He’d never felt so accepted since his death, not even with Bucky.

“Do not think it will be easy, Sam,” T’Challa told him the next morning at breakfast. “But you belong to us now. And we belong to you.”

Sam nodded, taking it for the charge it was. “I think I can handle that.” No matter what came next. He had a pack now, and he was going to show he was worthy of their trust in him.

Clay squeezed his hand under the table. “I love you, you stupid sexy vampire.” Why was he whispering? Everyone in here had enhanced hearing. Maybe it was were etiquette.

Sam squeezed back. “I love you, you sweet stinky puppy.”

 


End file.
